


(it feels better) biting down

by goosewriting



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: .......SENSUAL vampire feeding, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Consensual vampire feeding, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Hand Jobs, Human Crowley, M/M, Praise Kink, Vampire AU, Vampire Aziraphale, Vampire Bites, Vampire Sex, aziraphale "feeds" off of crowley but its like. a trust exercise, i really tried not to be weird about it so im sorry if its weird, it is unknown what it is aziraphale's pants actually so project upon him as you wish, light gore, like. VAMPIRE biting but crowley gets off on it fhdjkfhksh, mentions of blood in a vampire-y way, vampire vampire vampire bleh bleh bleh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:20:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26944324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goosewriting/pseuds/goosewriting
Summary: Aziraphale, a vampire of nearly five thousand years, hasn’t fed off a human in centuries-- there’s always been other means of getting the blood he needs, and plus, it’s indicative of a trust he hasn’t had with anyone for a long time. He doesn’t like to feed off of anyone he doesn’t trust, anyone who doesn’t trust him.When Crowley, the human with whom he’s been courting for the past few months, asks if he’ll feed off of him, he makes sure Crowley is aware of everything that that means, and then he accepts.He wants to try. He couldn’t have ever anticipated how much Crowley would like it, though.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 488





	(it feels better) biting down

**Author's Note:**

> whoops!!! it's vampire au time!!! i've seen lots of vampire crowleys (and i love them all!) but i wanted some vampire aziraphale. luckily a friend and i have been discussing a vampire au for a hot second, so i decided to write this. 
> 
> you dont need context, but if you want it: modern times, they're both university professors-- aziraphale is history dept, crowley is ethics-- and they met because... well, long story short, you can't see vampires in automobile backup cameras.
> 
> anyway, enjoy the vampire porn!

The first time they do this, like so many other firsts between them, it happens because Crowley asks for it. 

That’s good, because Aziraphale would never ask for this, no matter how much he may want it. He’d vouch for the opposite, actually; it’s risky, and he’d never want to put Crowley at risk. He hopes above everything else that Crowley knows that. 

In the end, regardless of Aziraphale’s hesitation, they end up here: Crowley sitting on his bed and more relaxed and sure of himself than Aziraphale has ever seen him before, and Aziraphale perched at the edge of the mattress with his fists curled in the tartan duvet. There’s a glass of juice and a box of crackers on the nightstand, a bottle of water, a bowl of grapes. Ibuprofen, bandages. Little things Crowley might need afterward— that they both might need, really. Aziraphale doesn’t know, doesn’t remember what he’ll need. He hasn’t done this in… a while. 

(A long, _long_ while _—_ when is the last time he’s felt safe enough with another person to put them both in a vulnerable position like this? Decades? _Centuries?_ When is the last time someone else has _wanted_ the same thing he wants, but in reverse? When was the last time he let himself want?)

He turns to look at Crowley, who is the very picture of cool, sprawled on the bed and looking for all the world like he doesn’t have a single worry. Aziraphale knows the truth of the matter, which is that he _is_ worried, but that the thrill that this may provide him easily trumps that. He’s more excited than anything else. They talked about this several times, at his insistence, just to make sure Crowley knows what he’s getting into. He has to know the risks, the disadvantages, every little thing that could go wrong. They have to be clear on this. There isn’t room for miscommunication. 

“Angel?” Crowley murmurs in question. Aziraphale hears fear in his voice. Fear of what? Of what they’re about to do, or of Aziraphale’s hesitation? “Alright?” 

“Yes, of course, dear,” Aziraphale answers with what is almost sincerity. “Simply thinking.”

Crowley cracks a grin at this, the stark wrinkles by his eyes bunching in response. “Well, you know how bad an idea _that_ is.” He shifts on the bed, crawls over to Aziraphale, pulls him further onto the bed, and sits next to him; Aziraphale turns into his embrace willingly, giving in to his tangled warmth. Crowley coils his arms around him, pulling him close. “Do you want to back out?”

“No,” comes Aziraphale’s response. It’s automatic, and Aziraphale knows why: he’d rather go through with it to provide Crowley with the experience he wants than back out for his own comfort. It’s awfully ironic that _he’s_ the frightened one. _Crowley_ is the one who deserves to be frightened, and yet here he is, providing Aziraphale with the comfort he so sorely needs. “I’m just— scared.”

“Of what?” Crowley queries, and it’s clear he sees the irony too if the humor in his voice is any indication. “Hurting me? We’ve been over this, Aziraphale, _hurting_ me isn’t a problem.”

“No, I know. I’m more scared that I...” Aziraphale trails off.

“...What?”

He takes a breath, settles more firmly into the arms that Crowley has snaked around him, and turns so that they’re facing one another. “That I won’t want to stop.” 

While Aziraphale _wants_ a response, he doesn’t expect one, and he doesn’t get one at first. Crowley just hums in understanding, rubbing slow circles into Aziraphale’s back through his dress shirt. 

After a moment, though, Crowley speaks. “Well-- you might not _want_ to, but-- but I _know_ you, Aziraphale, and you _will_ . You’re much… you’re… you’re stronger than anyone else I know. And plus, in the grand scheme of things, you don’t _have_ to stop,” he shrugs, and Aziraphale begins to protest, but Crowley stops him. “No, I mean— I plan on— on staying around as long as you’ll have me. This doesn’t have to be the _only_ time. We can— we can do this as much as you want, y’know? Or-- or as much as I _can,_ ” he says, "like, physically. I'm just happy to be here, really."

Aziraphale runs his tongue over the back of his teeth, suppressing a coy smile. “You’re too kind, Crowley,” he says, knowing it’ll diffuse some of the tension in Crowley’s shoulders. 

“I’m not _kind,”_ Crowley mutters in response, relaxing after the difficulty of being vulnerable. “Let alone _too_ kind.” 

“You are, my dear,” Aziraphale insists, curling further into their embrace. “Much too kind.” The result of Aziraphale’s retreat into Crowley’s arms is that they’re entangled fully now, sitting, facing one another on the bed. Crowley’s legs are thrown over Aziraphale’s, and they both hold one another close. Aziraphale shifts his head, just slightly. He comes to rest with his mouth against the skin of Crowley’s throat. 

“Are you ready, my dear?” he asks in a whisper. A shiver tracks up Crowley’s spine and culminates in a trembling exhalation of breath, the sound of anticipation. 

“Yes,” Crowley answers plainly, another thing they’d discussed; there’d be no half-answers, no quiet affirmatives. If they were to do this, they needed to be clear with one another. “I’m ready.” 

From here on, Aziraphale knows that the motions are somewhat familiar. That doesn’t mean it’s any less frightening. He breathes in through his nose and moves one hand to the other side of Crowley’s neck, providing support. His tongue pushes out from between his lips and shallowly licks a patch onto Crowley’s neck, slicking the skin so that the next part won’t hurt so badly. The venom in Aziraphale’s saliva sinks in, stings for just a moment before it settles and diffuses and numbs the area just _enough._

(He’s careful to swallow the remaining venom down, to make sure his teeth, his tongue, his _kiss_ isn’t poisonous anymore. The last thing he’d want is for this to become something else. For _Crowley_ to become something else.)

Aziraphale sits for a moment, mouth open, and breathes hot air onto the wet-cold spot on Crowley’s throat. It’s here, in this held-still, clenched-muscle moment of anticipation, that Aziraphale really realizes what they’re doing here and what’s about to happen. He gives them a moment to sit with it. He feels the weight of his trust in Crowley and Crowley’s in him, and the breadth of the love he’s fallen into but not spoken of. It’s a sanguine sweetness that he couldn’t have expected; something he didn’t even believe he deserved before it fell, without preamble, into his lap. 

Crowley shivers against him, whimpers breathily, and the moment passes. Aziraphale leans in and sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of Crowley’s throat. 

The skin breaks. Aziraphale’s mouth fills with red, hot blood. 

He drinks. 

Time always functions oddly when Aziraphale gets to do this. It seems to unwind so slowly, parched and crawling through the desert towards the oasis of the end at a snail’s pace, but _so_ quickly at the same time. Pleasure always tends to toy with continuity in that way. For it _is_ pleasurable: Crowley’s blood is slick and sour-sweet on his tongue, and it goes down smoother than any alcohol he’s ever had. He drinks, careful, quick, clean, doing his best not to glut himself on the very life-essence of his lover. 

He’s not even thirty seconds in when Crowley’s hands tighten on his back and he whimpers, his black-laquered fingernails digging into flesh. At first Aziraphale thinks it to mean that Crowley wants him to stop— that it hurts, or that he’s dizzy, maybe. He begins to pull back, to disengage his fangs regardless of whether or not he’s sated-- 

\--but then the fingers of one of Crowley’s hands find their way into his downy-soft, white curls and they _twist_ and _push_ and pull him closer and Aziraphale understands quickly that it wasn’t a request to stop, it was a plea for _more_. 

Aziraphale’s understanding is aided by another, entirely new factor: when Crowley grasps him closer, tighter, and all but writhes his way into his lap, Aziraphale feels the very distinct impression of Crowley’s cock, hard against his front, pressing against the fly of his jeans.*

(*Some may not think it possible for someone to sustain an erection while also having their blood sucked from their body. However, those people would never have met Crowley, a man so easily turned on by the very _thought_ of this-- let alone the _action_ \-- that nothing as flimsy as a ‘rule of biology’ could stop him, nor could the dissuading opinions of an unknown amount of bystanders.**

(**Bystanders who should stop nitpicking and just enjoy the vampire porn.)

As it stands, all the blood in Crowley’s body is attempting to rush either distinctly southward or into Aziraphale’s mouth, leaving him _incredibly_ lightheaded as a result. 

He laughs wetly into the air of the room, in the daze he feels he’s waited his life for.) 

“Oh, _Aziraphale,_ ” Crowley breathes, his mouth curled in a lazy smile. The hand not in the vampire’s hair grasps onto Aziraphale’s free hand, which was, until seconds ago, resting neatly in the divot of Crowley’s hip. Crowley presses that hand to the front of his jeans with a whined, “Aziraphale, _please_.” 

If you’re looking for clear signs, that’s bound to be one of them. Aziraphale suppresses a laugh.

With his fangs still sunk in the meat of Crowley’s throat, Aziraphale pulls down the zipper at the front of Crowley’s jeans and slips his hand inside, pressing it flat against him through his pants so that Crowley has something to frot against. It’s so hot in there already, blood-warm, a little wet where Crowley is leaking against his briefs, and Aziraphale squeezes his eyes shut against the wave of arousal he feels. 

It should be something he tries to ignore or stave off-- he has a different goal, after all-- but how _can_ he when Crowley is breathing heavily, hotly, desperately clutching Aziraphale to him as though he isn’t a _predator_. As though he isn’t holding Crowley’s very life in his hands right now, as though he couldn’t kill him in an _instant_. 

\--Though perhaps that’s part of it all, now that he thinks of it. The trust, the intimacy, the danger and adrenaline. 

...He can think on it later.

For now, he presses his palm tighter and savors the way that Crowley keens, muscles tight-wound and breath coming faster. Aziraphale sinks his fangs just _that_ much deeper and feels the way that Crowley’s cock twitches against his hand, feels how he moans and pulses and shivers again. 

It only takes a tiny bit of physical suggestion to start Crowley _really_ rutting, rocking his hips at _exactly_ the pace he needs. Aziraphale hums against his skin at the feeling of it, of Crowley taking his pleasure. It’s more satisfying than the feeding, somehow. 

Speaking of— it’s not long after this begins that Aziraphale finds himself full. Or, at the very least, ready to be done— he’d prefer not to take more from Crowley than is strictly necessary. With the utmost care, he removes his fangs from his neck. Fresh blood doesn’t hesitate to rise to the surface, and Aziraphale gently laps it away. Crowley, unable to see these things but fully able to _feel_ them, freezes and moans at the sensation of his tongue moving over his jugular, of the wound sealing over with venom. 

Aziraphale wastes no time; as soon as the wound is no longer bleeding, he begins kissing his way up Crowley’s neck, licking, teasing his fangs over the skin in gentle nips and nibbles. Crowley reacts in kind, rubbing himself into Aziraphale’s palm and catching his breath in his throat. 

With nimble fingers, Aziraphale pushes Crowley’s pants down enough that he can pull out his cock and fist it in one hand. He rubs his thumb teasingly over the head and Crowley bucks into it with a hoarse moan. Whatever sexual urges Aziraphale finds himself feeling are easy to ignore in a moment like this, with Crowley so taken by pleasure already. He can hardly do anything but watch, touch, feel; hardly think of anything but the sight before him. He’s so good, too good— and, oh, isn’t _that_ an idea?

“Oh, Crowley, you’re so good,” he murmurs, pulling him close again and nipping at his neck, but still working his hand gently over Crowley’s cock, moving just enough. “Too good to me. Thank you for letting me feed, you’re too good, so kind.” 

The words have the desired effect— Crowley moans and thrusts into it, his hand balled in Aziraphale’s shirt, his mouth open in a silent cry. “Mm-- m’ not good,” he manages after a moment. 

“Oh, _sure_ you’re not, you wicked, wicked thing. Rude. Awful. Cruel. Your reputation is of a heartless man. But you’re so beautiful here for me, aren’t you?” Crowley shudders again. Aziraphale traces his tongue again over the bite, kisses his way to his collarbone, then stops to look up into his face, to hold his lips close to Crowley’s, to press their foreheads together. “So delicious, so good. You've more than satisfied a hedonist like me, my dear, and you know how picky I am. You did so well, so perfectly.” 

He moves up for a kiss that Crowley is all-too eager for, messy and splayed and open and warm. Aziraphale wonders if Crowley can taste the blood on his tongue. In breaking away, he pulls his fangs over Crowley’s bottom lip, teasing. Crowley quivers and huffs and whines in a familiar way; a way that says he’s close, he’s teetering at the edge, if only Aziraphale would— 

“Come for me, darling,” Aziraphale beckons, “you’ve done so well.” 

And come, he does. With a strangled groan, Crowley spills— over Aziraphale’s belly, his hand, on himself— until he’s spent, panting, bent with his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, weak with pleasure and— frankly— blood loss.

Aziraphale rubs his back soothingly, murmuring gentle words of praise and adoration. “That was perfect, my love,” he says quietly, allowing the pet name to slip. “Thank you.” 

“Mm,” Crowley gruffs. “Shouldn’t I be thanking _you?_ ” 

This earns a light, bubbly laugh from Aziraphale, who begins to maneuver them to a more comfortable position. He tucks Crowley away and removes his own soiled shirt, then uses it to wipe the pair of them clean (there’s no blood to clean up, though; Aziraphale is an _expert_ at this aspect of vampirism), and throws it to the hamper; Crowley is quick to put his hands on the newly-exposed skin, as woozy and touch-drunk as he is, a small smile on his lips. 

“I think we can settle with being mutually grateful, dear.” 

“Nn, yeah, sounds good.” Aziraphale pulls Crowley to the head of the bed and lays down, then arranges Crowley so that he’s under his arm, his head on his chest. Crowley coils his arms around Aziraphale’s middle and squeezes, settling in comfortably. “M’ tired.” 

“That’ll be the blood loss,” Aziraphale agrees, smiling. “Here, eat this.” He reaches to the nightstand and comes back with the bowl of grapes, plucking one free and offering it to Crowley, who lifts his head weakly and steals it from his fingers with his teeth. He munches it quietly and snuggles back in. 

Later, Crowley will stand at his bathroom mirror and admire the mark that Aziraphale’s teeth left on his neck. Later, he’ll tell Aziraphale that he wants to do it again; Aziraphale will taunt him, say that of _course_ he does, he got off, after all, and Crowley will flush and snort and agree that, yes, while that was a perk, he liked the rest of it just as much— the feeding, the memory, the mark. 

He’ll say, in his own way, that he likes giving Aziraphale something he needs, that it makes him feel good, feel needed and loved. Aziraphale will smile and kiss him and tell him that yes, next time he’s in need, he’ll come to Crowley. That it’s all well and good.

For now, though, they rest, Crowley’s head on Aziraphale’s chest, Aziraphale’s hand stroking his back, Aziraphale’s fingers plucking a grape from its vine every so often to feed to Crowley. 

Though neither of them have spoken of the heavily-weighted, thickly-congealed love in their chests, they both feel it anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> oops! hope you enjoyed! let me know if you liked it or if you want more from this world and maybe i'll do something about it someday. maybe not. either way, i luv u, thank you for reading !!!


End file.
